


Just Friends

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Negan/Simon fics [1]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gay Simon (Walking Dead), M/M, Pansexual Negan (Walking Dead), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: ...or at least that's what you said.Getting black out drunk at a party seems like a good idea until alcohol loosens tongues and lips find others. In the wake of a hangover, does everything still feel the same?





	Just Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vizhi0n](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizhi0n/gifts).



Emerging from a black-out sleep, Negan’s first impression of wakefulness was that his head hurt like a god damn bitch. Then as feeling returned to the rest of his body, Negan gradually became aware of the muzziness in his mouth, his tongue dry as if he’d been sucking a cotton-sock dick. His face itched from his just past five o’clock shadow, and everywhere else on his body ached. He hadn’t hurt this much since high school when he played football for one season before he said fuck that and went to play grab ass on the basketball court instead.

But as he gradually grew used to all his pain and discomfort, Negan also became aware that he was warm, overly warm. Someone chesty was curled up to his side. Without opening his eyes, Negan smiled. Memories of the night before flooded him as he remembered the Valentine’s Party they threw at the Sanctuary. Hell, who knew if it was even February for Christ’s sake, but his wives begged for a romantic party and Simon found a Party City that had plenty of cheesy decorations. Negan figured what the hell and secretly hoped his wives would also put on a little Victoria’s Secret fashion show for him.

Damn, that party had been out of control. Loud music – mainly 80s love ballads – and booze, so much booze. Had Negan really bawled out Take My Breath Away? Christ, well, what can he say except Top Gun is an excellent movie. Negan also remembered that at one point, he and Simon faced off against each other, downing shots of tequila as they desperately tried to drink the other under the table.

Negan liked Simon. He was loyal, level-headed mostly, but also could unleash anger like a storm. Sometimes Negan liked to shake Simon up just to watch that storm build up inside. It was beautiful, the hypnotic swirl of fury in Simon’s dark eyes, the tense and ripple of his muscles as he shifts restlessly to try and release some of that dark energy. Negan just couldn’t help and throw his hands on Simon, an arm across his broad shoulders or lower around his waist just to harness some of the heat that would come of Simon in waves. Simon was a man of steel, a dog on a leash that Negan could unleash on any poor fuck he wanted to.

The first time he saw Simon in his full animalistic anger and glory, it was an accident. It was also the first time he and Simon met.

Negan had been wandering by himself when he happened upon a campsite he thought was abandoned. There had been a bottle and Negan snatched it up and gulped down whatever it was because he was damn thirsty – and then immediately spat it out into the grass. It was fucking turpentine! Whoever was drinking that was trying to kill him, the campsite had to be a trap! Just as the thought entered his mind, he was tackled the ground by a bear of a man: Simon.

“You just drank my fucking gin only to spit it all out!”

“I did you a fucking favor, buddy,” Negan gasped. Simon had wrapped his big, meaty hands around Negan’s throat, squeezing so hard Negan thought his windpipe might snap. He clutched at Simon’s hands, wheezing, eyes popping out of his head, nearly blacking out. “That shit tasted like battery acid. Your liver will thank me later.”

All the pressure was released and oxygen flooded Negan’s lungs when Simon sat back on his heels, still pinning Negan to the ground. “I couldn’t give a shit about my liver. If those dead ones are going to eat it, I hope they choke.”

Squinting up at Simon, who openly studied him right back, Negan thought he was damn funny. Not necessarily funny looking – even with the mustache – but just funny. He laughed, his voice cracked and hoarse from the rough treatment, and sat up on his elbows as much as he could. “Hi. I’m Negan.” Smiling up at Simon, he waited to see what the man would do.

A beat, and then Simon took Negan’s hand and shook it. “Simon, my friend.” He stood and then helped Negan to his feet, too, before dropping his hands to his thighs, rubbing his palms nervously into his pants. “Sorry about that. Some people are crazy now.”

“Crazy can be good sometimes if it keeps you alive.” Negan brushed the dirt off his clothes, for the most part unbothered. He’d be pissed if he found someone drinking his booze, too. Booze is one of the few comforts left at the end of the world anyway, since there was a complete lack of titties at the moment.

“Would you, uh,” Simon began, and then gestured back at his campsite where the fire was still cackling and popping merrily and welcomingly, “would you like to stay for dinner? Pork and bean cans and water since you finished off my gin.”

“Sounds fucking fantastic!” Negan rejoined enthusiastically, and it wasn’t until later when he was curled up in Simon’s sleeping bag while Simon kept watch that he had totally gotten a boner when Simon choked him like that.

The second time he saw Simon lose control was when someone aimed a gun at Negan’s heart. Simon had picked the scrawny, rodent looking guy up and tossed him into a tree. It broke the poor fuck’s back. From then on, Simon was Negan’s righthand man. And they were best fucking friends.

But there was a lot of tension between them, a balancing of power. They constantly tried to one up the other, prove their masculinity of however the fuck his wife Michaela put it. Negan liked the game of it. All it took one look to let Simon know that he went too far, and Simon would back down obediently. That didn’t mean he didn’t put up a fight or challenge Negan’s authority, but it was never to the point that Negan feared Simon. Because as much as Negan knew that Simon was a complete and total badass, he also knew that Simon was a softie.

Simon liked to bake. When all the other workers were out of the kitchens because of curfew, Simon would sneak in and bake a pumpkin pie or a peach cobbler, whatever he could. Negan found that out when he had gone the kitchens to get Frankie some chocolate. She was riding that fucking red wave instead of Negan’s dick, and he felt bad about her crying. When he had waltzed in, Simon was in an apron bent over with his head stuck in the oven. Negan watched, amused as hell, as Simon pulled out a beautiful chocolate box cake – and then Simon nearly dropped it at the sight of Negan.

“Negan!”

“Simon! You didn’t tell me you could fucking bake!”

“Negan, please.”

“Should my right-hand man be on kitchen duty instead?” Negan teased, tongue caught between his teeth as he grinned mischievously at Simon.

Rather than saying anything incriminating, Simon’s mustache twitched and he glared at Negan.

Normally Negan would continue to bust balls until the break, but for someone reason, looking at Simon, he changed his mind. “I’m just fucking with you, Simon. Bake your god damn heart out. But uh, can I get a slice or two? Frankie’s cranky.”

Another thing about Simon that Negan found out was that the man was great with his hands. Not just in a I-Can-Miraculously-Fix-The-Engine-Just-By-Touching-It or Let-Me-Put-That-Dresser-Together-For-You or Yeah-I-Know-How-An-Air-Conditioner-Works-And-I-Can-Tell-You-In-Detail or Sure-I-Don’t-Mind-Fixing-Your-Plumbing-For-You or No-It’s-Okay-I-Can-Totally-Get-The-Generators-Working-Again-In-Less-Than-Thirty-Minutes-No-Really-It’s-No-Problem-At-All – because of course Simon could do all of that, too. Simon was also a carpenter.

One of the pregnant women at the Sanctuary was complaining about how her baby was going to have to sleep in a laundry basket, and then Simon turned up one day with a baby crib. Negan could tell it wasn’t the kind from a box, too. He said nothing about it, but he did slip an extra bottle of gin in Simon’s room for his efforts. A good man like that deserves to be rewarded however he can, and since Simon always rejected a free-pass with his wives, Negan had no other award system than booze. Besides, it always made Negan chuckle, remembering how they met over a silly thing like that.

Simon also liked art. Picasso. He’s also wanted to travel to Japan. He prefers Chopin over Liszt and yes, Simon knew who those were and Negan only knew about them from Lucille. Simon wasn’t much of a reader because he was dyslexic. Simon didn’t know shit about plants because he called every weed a flower. No, Simon’s never been in the military, he just liked to stay in shape.

And Negan knew that before all of this – Simon sold insurance. Try as he might, Negan couldn’t picture a brick-shithouse man like Simon in a cramped cubicle, organizing papers and sharpening his pencils in a monkey-suit.

“Yeah, looking back, that seems like such a fucking joke.” Simon shook his head and took a small sip of the whiskey Negan had to beg him to try. He thumbed his mustache, thoughtfully staring out into space at nothing. “If I die tomorrow, there’s no one left to take my life insurance policy.”

Feeling sentimental from the booze, Negan protested, “Don’t say shit like that, Simon. I’d be fucking lost without you. What the fuck am I supposed to do without my fucking right-hand man? Jerking off with just one is no damn fun at all.”

But Simon just snorted at his joke, rolling his eyes, and they switched to discussing plans for their newest community.

Yeah, Simon was a good friend to have. And as Negan resolutely kept his eyes shut so as to not aggravate his headache and hangover any further, he twisted into the warm body beside him, tucking his nose in the hair with a sigh. Whichever one of his wives it was – if it even was a wife, he was still known to stray and take some lucky, independent girl back to his room if she caught his eye – used Head & Shoulders shampoo, the almond scented one, and had a faint musky scent like… Old Spice? Well, beggars can’t be choosers, you take what you can get. Besides, Negan wasn’t about to complain about his choice in bed partners when whoever it was had a sizeable rack pressed against his arm. Negan only felt a little guilty that he couldn’t remember them or the surely mind-blowing sex they had to have had, too.

The ache in his body fading away to a pleasant echo, Negan figured he was up for a morning repeat to jog his memory. He rolled over on his side, hooking his arm around the warm body that had the smoothest, warmest skin he could ever want. Pressing his erection against a thick and hairy (no razors, Negan wasn’t going to judge) thigh, Negan sleepily hummed, “Hello there, sexy.”

For some reason, he hadn’t registered that the body he was cuddling was particularly big and beefy yet but it suddenly clicked when at the sound of his voice every muscle in that body tensed like a coiled snake.

Negan’s head slammed back against the pillows when his bed partner slammed their head back into his chin. His eyes finally opened in pain and they connected with Simon’s equally shocked ones. There was a moment of panic and then Simon sprang backwards out of bed and – yup, he was completely naked. Not a bad view and – holy fuck what a damn monster between his legs. Yeah, Negan would definitely remember something like that.

And then Simon’s legendary storm of fury resurfaced, and Negan braced himself for this bed to rock it out in the least pleasant way possible.

“What are you doing in my fucking bed, Negan?”

“Sleeping. And cuddling. And…maybe last night fucking? I can’t remember fucking much. The damn tequila…” Negan trailed off, concentrating as hard as he can. He didn’t remember any sex and when he shifted, his ass didn’t hurt and he didn’t feel any uncomfortable stains. So, no sex.

“Did Arat put you up to this? I swear if she did,” Simon abruptly broke off and huffed through his nose like a bull that was about to charge. “Get out of my room.”

Negan didn’t immediately move, instead looking around. Yes, this was Simon’s room, which wasn’t bad at all, just less elegant. More homey. Domestic. “Shit, Simon, relax and tone it down a bit before you bust a blood vessel.” Flopping back against the pillows again, Negan rubbed at his face, digging his fingers in his eyes. “My head is killing me.”

There was an eerie silence, and then the sound of soft footsteps and creaking as Simon moved around his room. The bed creaked under Simon’s weight when he heavily sat on the bed again, and that made Negan finally look back up at him. Simon offered him a water bottle and two white pills – probably Tylenol. Simon knew he was allergic to Advil.

“Fucking thanks, man,” Negan accepted them both gratefully and chugged half the water bottle before he thought better of it and offered the rest to Simon.

Simon took it back surprisingly gently, and he was staring at Negan as though he were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “Negan, what do you remember?”

“Our fucking drinking game.” Negan sat up in bed, the sheet pooling around his morning wood that hadn’t gone away yet. “Who the fuck won by the way?”

“That’s not really important right now.”

“That means I fucking won.”

“What else do you remember, Negan?” Simon sighed.

“Um. The party was fucking finally starting to wind down and I couldn’t feel my damn legs when I tried stumbling back to my own room.” The more Negan talked the more he could remember. “You offered to help me, and I, uh, accepted your offer.” He propped his arms on his knees, eyes going unfocused as he remembered openly feeling Simon up, squeezing his biceps and calling him – “Fuck, I called you a handsome, big boy.”

“Yeah, you did.” Simon hid his smile, but Negan still caught a glance. “Keep going.”

“We couldn’t make it to my room. Too many fucking stairs,” Negan quoted from last night, remembering his drunken agony. The room had really been spinning. “You offered to carry me, but I said fuck no because I’d throw up all over you. You did it anyway and I did fucking throw up all over you. We stopped at your room so you could change and stumble in the shower. I got fucking tired of waiting on your ass, so I stripped off and climbed into your bed and passed out. And that’s it on my fucking end.”

Simon nodded, seemingly satisfied with the story. “Well after I came out, you weren’t fully asleep. You called me over and I did, and then you…asked me to sleep with you and I did. I was drunk and tired, wasn’t thinking.”

“Just fucking sleep, right?”

Simon’s mustache frowned. “You asked me to fuck you, too, but neither of us were ready for that.”

“Yeah, alcohol limp dick, I get you.”

They lapsed into a heavy silence, and Negan stared at Simon wondering if he was the only one that felt that tension – the tension that he had for so long mistaken for a grapple with power. God, how could he had seen that all of Simon’s little digs and challenge of his authority was actually just playful teasing, that his little huffs and dark eyes were stemmed from a different kind of frustration? Negan is a blind fool.

“Negan,” Simon began, but Negan swiftly cut him off with a kiss.

And it felt right, and good, and pleasant, and warm. And hairy and ticklish.

When he pulled away, he asked, “We didn’t fucking kiss last night, right?”

He saw Simon swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing so hypnotically. “No, we didn’t do anything.”

“Good. I would’ve wanted to have fucking remembered.” Negan went in for another kiss but Simon pulled away.

“No, I don’t want to be your fuck buddy, Negan. You have wives for that.”

“Simon,” Negan said in the tone that brooked no challenge and again, Simon went weak for him. This time Negan paid attention the quiver, to the hopeful look in his eyes, to the tilt of his head as he bared his neck for attention. “Simon, we can’t go back to being just friends.”

“Why not?”

“Neither of us fucking want that.” Negan gently cupped Simon’s strong, hard jaw, running his thumb over the divot between Simon’s lower lip and chin. “Or am I wrong?”

“No…no I don’t want that.”

“Then let’s just be this.”

“And what is this?” Simon asked him bluntly, quirking his eyebrow, but for all his bravado, Negan could see the insecurity underneath.

“It’s more than just fucking friends, Simon.”

It seemed as good enough an answer as any, because Simon didn’t hold himself back anymore. Their mouths reconnected, and Negan had to wonder what the fuck took him so long what had been staring him in the face from the very start?

“‘Just friends’,” Negan would later sputter in disbelief with a shake of his head, curiously thumbing Simon’s mustache while he slept. With another scoff, Negan added, “My fucking left nut,” and then settled down to sleep, his head pillowed on Simon’s chest, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat.


End file.
